


Sandpaper

by BonesAndScales



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Will Graham, Getting Together, Hannibal is Here For This, Humiliation, M/M, Masochist Hannibal Lecter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sadism, Sadist Will Graham, Spanking, Submissive Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham is Conflicted, public spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 19:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/pseuds/BonesAndScales
Summary: Will did not trust himself with love.Love was never safe in his mind, too easy to corrupt, and then impossible to cleanse. The tendrils of his innermost desires—his innermost fears—wrapped themselves around it, slithered into its core and coloured it with violence, a drop of ink fallen in clear water.In which Will is a repressed sadist, and Hannibal is Interested.





	Sandpaper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InfiniteCrisis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCrisis/gifts).



> Please read this [glorious post](https://crisisoninfintefandoms.tumblr.com/post/181138981402/granpappy-winchester-victorineb) by InfiniteCrisis.
> 
> Because the world needs more sadist!Will. And Hannibal being turned on by sadist!Will.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Will’s hand fell hard on Dr. Lecter’s ass again. And again. And again. And again. And again—

Dr. Lecter cried out on the hardest hits, raspy, high pitched sounds released in shuddering breaths. It fueled the pool of fire simmering low in Will’s belly.

Will sucked in a breath, beating him harder still, trying to draw out more of those delectable sounds. The hits sent vibrations up his arm, left his palm tingling, sparked an exquisite sensation of power in him. His vision blurred at the edges, erasing the rest of the room and the other dinner guests to focus on the sight the dignified doctor made. Bent at the waist, chest pressed to the pristine wooden table—several plates were lying on the floor, swept by Will’s arm—clothes in disarray, hair dishevelled. Will tasted ambrosia in each sweet, pained mewls falling off Dr. Lecter’s mouth, and let them feed the arousal burning in his abdomen.

Dr. Lecter’s body lurched forward with the force of the hits, his hips knocking against the edge of the table, and Will fisted a hand in the back of his suit jacket. He smiled with malicious glee as he wrinkled the expensive fabric, and yanked sharply to keep him still. The next set was aimed at the center of Dr. Lecter’s right cheek, and his voice pitched higher with each hit, the pain unrelenting, heightened by the repetition. Will increased the force until his palm glowed red with the impacts, and soon the sharp _smack_ were loud enough to echo off the walls of the room, and drown out the scandalised whispers of the guests. Still it was nowhere near enough to cover the lovely whimpers coming from Dr. Lecter.

The line of his shoulders tensed up in anticipation before each blow, and his legs trembled under the assault, almost buckling under his weight. Will tugged on his jacket, keeping him upright. He delivered another sharp slap lower, right over the crease between his thigh and cheek, eliciting another sweet cry from him. The muscles in Will’s arm were starting to burn. How many hits had it been already? He could not remember. He lost count somewhere. Maybe he had not been counting at all to begin with.

Will stopped, and Dr. Lecter sagged forward, pressing his forehead against his arm, sucking in ragged breaths. Will reached around, made quick work of the buckle of the good doctor’s belt and the fly of his trousers. Dr. Lecter whined softly but he did not try to stop Will, keeping still and leaving his fate to Will's cruel hands.

Will smirked. Good boy.

He hooked his fingers in Dr. Lecter's boxers and pulled them down with his trousers. Another round of outraged gasps around them. Will ignored them, bunched up the hem of his dress shirt at the small of his back, revealing the beautiful red roses blooming on the pale flesh of his ass. Will stroked the warm skin, eyes wide with wonder. He grabbed Dr. Lecter cheek, kneaded it between his fingers, and Dr. Lecter let out a quivering exhale, the muscles of his ass clenching at the sensation.

Will swallowed. He bit his bottom lip, tempted to pull down his own trousers and fuck him right there, in front of all his prissy acquaintances. He shook his head. Later. Once he was satisfied with the shade of his abused skin, and had kicked all the guests out. Then he could drag Dr. Lecter to his bedroom and tie him to the bed and have his way with him for the remainder of the night.

Will drew back his arm, brought his hand down on Dr. Lecter’s naked ass. The sound was loud and obscene, unmuffled by clothes, and tore a scream from him. Will set an unforgiving pace. Blow after blow rained down on the reddening skin, turning it a lovely cherry colour. He barely left Dr. Lecter enough time to recover from each hit, feeling his own arousal growing at the sight of the man squirming under him.

Dr. Lecter bit his lip in a vain attempt at silencing his cries. Will frowned, and laid a particularly hard hit on the back his his thigh. A sob ripped out of Dr. Lecter’s throat and he rounded his back, rested his cheek on the table, seeking comfort in the coldness of the polished wood. Will sucked in a breath as he was finally able to see his face, cheeks flushed and puffy, eyes squeezed shut, tears sliding off his pale lashes.

He looked gorgeous.

Their eyes locked and Dr. Lecter gasped, turning his face back against his arm, hiding from Will, and muffling his whimpers into his sleeve. Will clicked his tongue. This won’t do. He let go of the jacket and fisted his hand into Dr. Lecter’s hair, ruining the careful combing, and yanked his head upwards.

“Will—”

Will startled awake.

The dogs yipped, jumping out of their little beds in surprise. Will’s eyes flickered over the room, taking in his surroundings. He recognised his own house, still shrouded in the blanket of the night, and let himself fall back down on his bed, panting heavily.

This was the third time this week. The third time he had dreamed of doing terrible, terrible things to Dr. Lecter. And almost got off on it. He pressed his lips together as bile gathered at the back of his throat. He ignored the pressure in his belly and the strain in his boxers.

Remnants of his dream flashed behind his closed eyelids, and he felt his stomach twist with disgust and shame as his cock twitched against his hip. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbed his hands over his face. However hard he tried, he could not erase the image of Dr. Lecter’s face contorted in pain, tear stained and thoroughly humiliated. Will gingerly pushed himself up, and sat on the edge of the bed. He put his head between his knees, fighting off both nausea and arousal. He breathed through his fingers, willing his to heart slow down, and his erection to vanish.

It did not work.

He cursed under his breath and got out of bed, shed his clothes on the way to the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

Will did not trust himself with love.

Love was never safe in his mind, too easy to corrupt, and then impossible to cleanse. The tendrils of his innermost desires—his innermost fears—wrapped themselves around it, slithered into its core and coloured it with violence, a drop of ink fallen in clear water. Violence and pleasure were too tightly woven together, had become inextricable from one another. They were a part of him he had first tried to deny, and once he could not anymore, had been struggling to suppress. They sparked in him unwanted, horrendous desires.

He never allowed anyone close enough, lest his tasteless thoughts taint them too. If he could not isolate said thoughts from the people he knew, then he would isolate himself altogether. So far he had been more or less successful, sealing the worst of his deviant cravings, never lingering on them, never giving them room to grow.

Right until he met Hannibal Lecter.

Something about the man brought out the worst in Will.

From the moment they met, and every time they would see each other afterwards, be it for 'conversations’ at the doctor's office or consulting together on cases, Will could not stop his eyes from roaming over his body. Expensive tailored suit, not a strand of hair out of place, a perfect mask of composure. There was something in Will that wanted to destroy every inch of that persona, rip it to shreds, and bare him to the world. Soon enough, his formless, foggy desires turned into vivid fantasies. He wanted to tear those clothes, bring him to his knees, draw scars on his skin, rip that composure apart, have him squirm and cry under his hands.

Will wanted to hurt him, and the mere thought of it could bring him over the edge.

And left him mortified.

Will was a good man. He wanted to be a good man. And getting off on the thought of someone writhing in pain was not his idea of what a good man was. But the more time they spent together, the more Will found himself fending off thoughts of the good doctor tied and gagged and blindfolded and falling apart under Will’s ruthless ministrations.

Will needed to put a stop to it. He needed to find a source of safety and stability.

“That’s why you kissed her. A clutch for balance.”

Will clenched his teeth, looking away. “Because I’m losing mine.”

Alana was a safe haven. She was ethereal in his mind. Untouchable. Will could never imagine ever doing anything unsavoury to her. She could have been the sheath to his darkest thoughts.

Or so he had tried to convince himself. How long until he would have tainted her too? Until he would have lost himself and done the irreparable to her? This was selfish of him, risking hurting her in the off chance that she might be able to curb his most violent yearnings.

“You said yourself that what you do is not good for you.”

“Unfortunately, I’m good for it.”

As Dr. Lecter turned to open the oven, Will’s gaze slid over his form, over his carefully groomed hair, over his impeccable suit. Over the swell of his ass. An excruciatingly vivid fragment of his latest dream flared at the front of his mind.

Pale skin.

Red roses.

Will wrenched his gaze away, repressing a wave of disgust creeping up his throat. He closed his eyes and took in a quiet breath, willing away the memories, silencing the pesky voice wondering whether Dr. Lecter's skin would turn as pretty a red if Will used that long wooden spoon left near the sink instead of his own hand.

Dr. Lecter turned to him again, a charming smile on his face as he handed Will a beautifully presented dessert. Will forced a crooked smile on his face, did not dare meet the man’s eyes as he took the plate. He was too afraid that the remnants of his shameful thoughts would cling to his retinae, and that Dr. Lecter would see them. He was too perceptive not to.

Will placed the plate on the counter, without picking up the spoon. He did not think he could hold down anything he ate right now. Thankfully, Dr. Lecter seems to be too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice. He fiddled with a dish cloth, folding it and unfolding it before he finally spoke, “I hesitate telling you this as it borders on a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality. I’ve never been in this position before.” Will turned to him, though he still kept his eyes fixed on his tie. Dr. Lecter stalled some more—something stirred in Will at seeing him so hesitant, something like pleasure, something like power—resting his hands on the counter. “A patient told me today he suspects a friend of his may be involved with the murder at the symphony.”

Work.

Will could do work.

He could bear to have his mind wander in thoughts of hurting bad men.

“What did he say about his friend?”

 

* * *

 

“I was worried you were dead.”

_So was I._

Will offered Dr. Lecter a small smile. His heart was still fluttering with relied at the sight of him, alive, victorious. Vulnerable. Battered and bruised.

Will wandered closer, took in Dr. Lecter’s form, his slumped shoulders, the usually slicked back hair falling on his face. His skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. A flush of exertion was still fading high on his cheekbones. A small cut sat on the bridge of his nose, and a thin streak of blood ran down his lip and chin. There was a fragility in his appearance that stirred something warm in Will. And something vicious. He wanted to wipe off the last droplets of blood on his forehead as much as he wanted to see more trickle down his face.

Jack approached them, and they both turned to look at him.

“Tobias Budge kills two Baltimore Police Officers, nearly kills an FBI Special Agent, and after all that his first stop is your office.”

Will's eyebrow ticked at the suspicion lying under Jack's tone, barely concealed.

“He came to kill my patient.”

Will was only half listening as Dr. Lecter answered Jack’s questions and recounted what happened with Tobias Budge. His patient’s attempt at reasoning Budge, his failure and subsequent demise, the fight that followed.

Will found himself paying more attention to Dr. Lecter’s mouth than to the words that were coming out of it. He wanted a taste of it. He imagined the feel of that cut lip between his own, and the tang of blood as he sucked on the wound. Fragments of his dreams flashed before his eyes. His mind drowned out Jack’s voice, filled instead with the sweet sounds Dr. Lecter would make—moans of pleasure, whimpers of pain, muffled cries and quiet sobs. Will bit the inside of his cheek, forced himself to focus on the conversation.

“So you killed him.”

Dr. Lecter hesitated, averting his eyes briefly before letting out in a breath, “Yes.” Barely louder than a whisper, weak and shuddering.

Will’s heart leaped in his throat. He had never seen nor heard the good doctor so small, so shaken up before. He was holding onto his composure with the skin of his teeth, but the veneer was threatening to crack at any minute. And Will found it oddly endearing. Arousing. No dream and no fantasy could have matched what he was seeing now. Will pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth.

After he was done questioning Dr. Lecter, Jack went back to the crime scene, and back to the team of paramedics still working around the two bodies.

Will sat on the edge of the desk, inching closer to Dr. Lecter, slowly, carefully, as though afraid that he would bolt at any sudden movement. Like a wounded, frightened animal. While Dr. Lecter was staring at Jack's retreating back, Will leaned sideways, trying to get a better look at the doctor’s wounds, but redirected his gaze as soon as he turned to him. Will took a deep breath, let it out in a quiet sigh, let his eyes sweep the room before falling on his hands. He clenched and unclenched them. He needed to do something with them.

A med-kit had been left on the corner of the desk. Will rummaged inside, picking up some gauze. He extended his hand towards Dr. Lecter, stopped a few centimeters from his forehead. He did not flinch, did not recoil, only looked at Will expectantly. Will took it as permission and gently pressed the gauze to his forehead, dabbing the flecks of blood that still clung to his skin. A little apology.

“I feel like I’ve dragged you into my world,” he said, low enough so as not to be heard by the paramedics working a few meters from them.

“No, I got here on my own.” Dr. Lecter looked up at him through his lashes, and Will had to swallow against a lump forming in his throat. “But I appreciate the company.”

He looked so small, so frail. So vulnerable. Will wanted to comfort him, take him in his arms and hold him tight, shield him from this terrible world of his. A world Dr. Lecter never should have found himself in, in the first place. And at the same time, Will was delighted at the sight of him, exhausted and hurt. Will wanted to see these glassy eyes brimming with tears. Somehow, Will knew pain would suit him just as beautifully as vulnerability.

A wave of guilt washed over him. He had to tear his hand away from Dr. Lecter’s forehead, lest he acted on this impulse to harm him.

Dr. Lecter sent him a curious look.

“You should probably go to the hospital,” Will said, leaving the gauze on the desk.

“It won’t be necessary. It looks more serious than it is.” Dr. Lecter carefully rubbed his hand around the gash in his thigh. He waved his other hand dismissively. “A warm bath and a change of clothes. Food, rest. Tomorrow it’ll all be a bad dream.”

Will pressed his lips together, frowning. It pained him to see Dr. Lecter trying to downplay the gravity of what happened to him. Will sent a glance towards Jack and other agents working on the scene. They did not need him. “Let’s get you back home,” he said, pushing himself up from the desk.

Dr. Lecter huffed out a laugh, a short, hesitant little thing. “Don’t inconvenience yourself for me. I should find my way home without too much difficulty,” he said, light and pleasant, probably hoping it would be enough to allay Will.

“You’re not driving with these wounds,” Will said firmly, tilting his chin at the doctor’s leg. “I’ll take you home.”

“I wouldn’t want you to—”

“Dr. Lecter, I’m taking you home.”

Dr. Lecter’s eyes snapped up to him at the tone. Will held his gaze, daring him to decline. The silence stretched out for what seemed like an eternity. Dr. Lecter seemed to be searching for something in Will. After a while, he inclined his head, seemingly satisfied with whatever he found.

“Yes. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Will came back to Dr. Lecter’s bedroom, and stopped in his tracks at the door.

Dr. Lecter was standing in front of the bed, facing away from him, a towel wrapped around slim hips while he rubbed his face with another.

Will’s throat became very dry as his eyes tracked the path of the droplets falling off his hair, sliding down his neck, his shoulder blades, the small of his back.

Whereas one might wear suits as a display of power, Dr. Lecter’s clothes made a wonderful job at making him appear _less_ intimidating. He had a lean, athletic figure. Not the kind of built you would expect from a psychiatrist. Something nagged at Will’s mind, a little voice that kept chanting that this could only be the result of manual labor. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, muscular legs. Whatever Dr. Lecter did to keep himself fit, there was some heavy lifting involved.

His body was covered with bruises from the fight with Budge, the red and purple marks a stark contrast against his pale skin.

Red roses.

“Will.”

Will’s gaze snapped back to Dr. Lecter’s face, and he forced the fragments of his dreams to the back of his mind. Will opened his mouth, closed it. He did not know what to do with himself. He did not want to smother Dr. Lecter, wanted to let him some space to breathe and recover from this traumatic experience. But at the same time, he felt a visceral need to tend to him, and make sure he was all right.

At his silence. Dr. Lecter tilted his head, offering him an inquisitive smile. Will managed a hasty, “First aid kit?”

Dr. Lecter tilted his chin towards the bathroom. “Beside the mirror, leftmost cabinet, top drawer.”

Will went to the bathroom, found himself engulfed in a cloud of heat and steam. He rummaged through the cabinets, fished the kit out and quickly came back to the bedroom. Dr. Lecter was now sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, rubbing his hair with the towel, patiently waiting for Will. As soon as Will stood in front of him, he held his hand out for the kit, but Will kept it out of his reach, kneeling in front of him instead.

“I’ll do it,” he mumbled, as the kit clicked open, and he picked out the supplies he would need.  

To his surprise, Dr. Lecter did not protest, only nodded, and folded his hands in his lap. Will knew that as a doctor he could perfectly well dress his wounds by himself, most likely more effectively than Will, but Will still felt compelled to do it. This was the least he could do, now that he had tainted Dr. Lecter’s world with his own—even though Will knew no amount of care and attention could make the lump of guilt in his throat disappear. He felt responsible for these wounds. He needed to be near him, needed to see him, alive and well. His movements were careful, gentle as he worked on the gash on his thigh. Will could feel the doctor’s gaze on him, could feel the questions swirling in his mind. He kept his eyes resolutely on his work.

“You seem distracted. Troubled,” Dr. Lecter said eventually.

“It’s been an awful day,” Will said. “For you and me both. I’m kind of surprised you don’t look more fazed than that.” Once done with Dr. Lecter’s thigh, Will gently took hold of his arm, making him unclasp his hand to take care of the cut left by the chord. Thankfully, the cut was shallow, the thick material of the doctor’s dress shirt having protected him to some extent.

“Being level-headed is a very valuable skill I acquired as a surgeon,” Dr. Lecter said, pliant under Will’s careful hands.

“Wait until the crisis is over before letting the panic kick in?”

“Hopefully, you’ll be here to help me when it does.”

Will huffed out a small, self deprecatory laugh. “I’m not sure I’ll be much help.”

“No?”

“I’m… not good with comforting people. Not considerate enough for that stuff.”

“So far you’ve been very considerate of me.”

“That’s,” Will glanced up, fell right into Dr. Lecter’s scrutinising gaze and immediately averted his eyes back to his task. “That’s not habitual. Don’t get used to it,” he said lightly, trying to alleviate the tension in the room.

It did not work. Dr. Lecter did not answer, but Will could still feel his eyes bore into him. He diligently ignored him, focusing on his arm. He idly though that the wound matched his own.

“Will, you’re not responsible for what happened,” Dr. Lecter said, his voice gentler than Will had ever heard.

“I know.” But knowing did fuck all to prevent the guilt from eating at him. When the gauze was securely wrapped around Dr. Lecter’s wrist, Will gingerly ran his hand over the bandage on his thigh one last time, surveying his work. “That’s about it,” he muttered, making to gather the supplies and put them back in the kit.

He flinched when a hand landed lightly on his before he could move away.

“Will.” This time Will looked up. Dr. Lecter was staring at him intently, something dark and soothing dancing in the depth of his pupils. He held Will’s hand in his on his knee, right over the wound. “Thank you.”

Will swallowed the lump in his throat, gave him a jerky nod. His gaze slid down to Dr. Lecter’s cut lip, just a second—but he knew it did not go unnoticed, it could not have. He ran his thumb up and down over the gauze. “Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing unbearable,” Dr. Lecter said, matching his tone.

Will swallowed, felt his throat click. Slowly, without breaking the eye contact, he pressed his thumb on the wound. Nothing changed in Hannibal’s expression, and he did not stop him. Will gradually applied more pressure, drinking in every change in Dr. Lecter’s expression—or lack thereof—until he was digging his fingers into Dr. Lecter’s wound, nail pressing into the thick gauze. Will could rip it open, destroy all his work, expose the wound. Slide his fingers inside the flesh, and pry it apart—

Dr. Lecter’s lips parted ever so slightly, not quite quivering.

Something snapped in Will. He surged forward, sucked Dr. Lecter’s lower lip between his own. The taste of iron exploded in his mouth.

Will’s eyelids fluttered close. He hummed, lapping at the cut and drawing more blood. He leaned further in, crushing their mouths together and swallowing Dr. Lecter’s muffled moans. They were as sweet as he imagined, a touch lower, raspier. They were exquisite. Will let go of his wounded lip and readjusted the angle of the kiss. Their noses bumped in the process, and their teeth clacked together awkwardly. Will could not care less. His hand kept pressing on the wound, fingers digging into the hard flesh of Dr. Lecter’s thigh. He could—he could tear the gauze, he could open the gash again, lap at the blood that would flow out—

Dr. Lecter let out a pained moan and his hand closed around Will’s wrist.

Will groaned against his mouth, reluctantly let go of Dr. Lecter’s injured lip. Though he could not quite stop himself from licking his own lips, chasing the taste left on them. He took his hand away from Dr. Lecter’s thigh, placed them on the bench on either side of his hip bone instead. He tried to lean back, but Dr. Lecter cupped his jaw, keeping their heads close.

“Sorry, I—” Will whispered over Dr. Lecter’s mouth, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” _Lies._

“It is quite all right, Will. I can withstand much harsher treatments,” Dr. Lecter said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Will snarled, that simple sentence sending a rush of blood to his groin. Dr. Lecter leaned in and their mouths met again for another kiss, shorter, sweeter. A chaste press of lips against lips, sliding against each other. Will allowed himself this second taste, leaned in closer, Dr. Lecter’s legs parting to make room for him. Will felt the man’s thumbs caressing his cheekbones, nails just shy off his lashes and he turned his head away, breaking the kiss again. He rested his forehead against Dr. Lecter’s, both of them panting against each other’s mouth.

“I should leave,” Will managed to whisper just before the doctor tilted his head to kiss him again, wrapping his arms around Will’s neck to keep him close.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice was screaming at Will to push him away. He was never good at listening to that voice. Will indulged him, indulged them both. He let his hands slide over Dr. Lecter’s warm, damp skin, memorising each dip and curve, the hard planes of his stomach and the coarseness of his chest hair. He snaked his arms around his waist, and laid his palms flat on his back, holding him close. He ran the tip of his tongue on the seam of Dr. Lecter’s lips, gave a few licks to the cut, much gentler this time. Dr. Lecter moaned softly and Will greedily drank the sound, sucking harder in the hope of drawing out more of those.

After a while, Will forced himself to pull away and they parted with a wet _smack._ They kept their faces close, their noses brushing with each harsh breath.

“Dr. Lecter, I—”

“Hannibal.”

“ _Dr. Lecter_ ,” Will insisted, holding onto this last barrier between them, “I have to—I really should leave.” He knew he should, yet he did not want to. He wanted to take back that plump lip between his mouth, he wanted to fold Dr. Lecter into his embrace, push him onto the mattress and take and take and take—

Will carefully took Dr. Lecter’s hands away from his shoulders, disentangling their bodies. He rested his own arms on the bench, bracketing Dr. Lecter’s legs.

“I was hoping you would stay for dinner.”

Will shook his head. “I think it would be better if I didn’t.” He sat back on his heels to put some distance between them, already missing the warmth of Dr. Lecter’s body. He did not dare meet his gaze, lest he found hurt in their depth. Lest he felt delight at their hurt. “It has been a trying day for both of us. I wouldn’t want you to have to play host when you clearly need rest.”

“I assure you, your company is never draining to me. Quite the opposite.”

Something stirred in Will’s chest at the words. They were almost enough to convince him to stay. Almost. He released a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, tussling it more than it already was. He pushed himself to his feet but a hand on his wrist, gentle yet firm, stopped him.

“Will, don't run away now.”

“I’m not running away.” Will winced at his own mechanical answer. “Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll call Alana or—”

“Am I another clutch for balance?”

“No, you’re not—it’s,” Will let his eyes wander the room, searching for his words. He felt his frustration mounting with each second ticking by. “This is inappropriate,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the two of them. “I shouldn’t be doing this when I’m—” _Unstable._ He did not say it aloud, but the slight narrowing of Dr. Lecter’s eyes told him that he heard it all the same.

For a long moment, Dr. Lecter did not answer, merely observing him. Eventually, he closed his eyes, taking a deep, quiet breath, before pinning Will with his gaze again. “Will, please. Stay for the evening. I believe we have much to discuss.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos feed the muse :D


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